Envy (Zacharias Smith/HP)
It’s not envy because he’s not jealous (Zacharias Smith/HP)
Title: It’s not envy because he’s not jealous
Author: yazzigazzi
Rating: G
Prompt: #23 Envy
Word Count: ~450
Warnings: Angst, unrequited, hint to H/D (is that a warning?)
Beta: Cheryl Dyson (love!)
Summary: Every day Zach tells himself it is not pure, green envy that he feels as Potter and his sidekicks walk past…
Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I don’t own Harry Potter.
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Every day Zach tells himself it is not pure, green envy he feels when Potter and his sidekicks walk past.
Every time Potter looks at his little redhead he tells himself he is not jealous and that he does not want to rip the stupid girl into pieces.
Those are Slytherin thoughts and Zach decided six years ago that he was not a Slytherin. However enticing the Hat might have found the idea, Zach had prayed not to get sorted into Slytherin. Of course he had never let his mask slip, not even then.
To the outside he looked ignorant and self-absorbed, arrogant and sure of himself and not like the scared little boy he really felt like inside… Zach thought there was nothing wrong with that.
He had never been kicked or pushed around by older students. Maybe Potter had not been, either.
Potter, who wore his heart on his sleeve, had surely never been kicked around, but that had everything to do with the fact that he was The Harry Potter and nothing to do with the fact that he showed his emotions so easily, that he could be read like an open book.
Like when he looked at the Weasley Girl (Zach refused to admit that he knew her name) he would always look like a lovesick puppy.
When he talked to his friends he looked happy and chattered animatedly, only occasionally sending annoyed looks when his two sidekicks were clawing each other’s eyes out.
Or when he talked to Draco Malfoy, trying to retain his cool but never succeeding.
Sometimes Zach felt sorry for Malfoy that so much loathing from Potter was directed at him.
Sometimes Zach envied the attention Malfoy got, the way he could always wind the brunette up.
Then he’d clench his fists and tell himself for the hundredth (if not millionth) time, he was not jealous.
There is no envy he feels. But not even when his hands start to bleed from the pressure of his grip will he be able to stop the sick feeling in his stomach.
Every night Zach goes to bed and he tells himself he is not thinking of Potter.
He tells himself that the fury he feels toward the redhead--even in his bed, laying awake with eyes wide-open--has nothing to do with the way she smiled at Potter, or the way he smiled back.
And he hates that he cannot sleep. He hates the way he’s always just laying there and staring at the ceiling.
He knows when the ceiling starts to swim before his eyes that they are only tears of fury, not disappointment. And the sob caught in his throat has nothing to do with the bloody lump his heart has been reduced to.
End